


so happy i could cry

by battyboy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, One Shot, Sansa Marries Willas, let her be happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 14:04:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10466736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/battyboy/pseuds/battyboy
Summary: "Her children are her world. Eddard is honorable and true at six. Brandon is kind and shy at four. The twins, Rickon and Robba, are sweet hellions at two. They are beautiful and she is happy."What if Sansa's marriage to Willas Tyrell had gone through without a hitch? What would be life have been like had she been allowed just a crumb of happiness?A fluffy AU to give Sansa some damned happiness. Lord knows the poor girl deserves it!





	

**Author's Note:**

> My first Game of Thrones fic (though I have many more stirring around in the old brain box!). Please enjoy!

Sansa is eighteen years old and a mother four times over. 

 

Had she been told she would bear her first child at ten and two before her marriage to Willas, she would have screamed with fear and rage. But this is her lot in life, and her children are her world. Eddard is honorable and true at six. Brandon is kind and shy at four. The twins, Rickon and Robba, are sweet hellions at two. They are beautiful and she is happy. 

 

She realizes that she is truly happy, not just  _ pleased  _ or  _ content _ , when she is sitting with Robba on her lap one morning. The sky is pink and boundless outside of her window, and the sun has barely crept over the horizon. The river flows clear and bubbling beneath the castle. The air is warm and the wind is slightly sweet. It carries the scent of cherries and blossoms. Each of her dear children is asleep, safe in their beds, save for her daughter. Robba, Seven save her, is fussy and needy, fearful of even the smallest things. It seems as if she hardly sleeps. 

 

“Hush now, sweet girl,” Sansa coos to the child. She smooths back the girl’s black locks. “Hush now, little one.” The twins sleep in her and Willas’s chambers, much to her lord husband’s displeasure. Rickon is sleeping sweetly in the twins’ bed, his black curls spread over his pillow like a halo. He looks quite like a little black-haired Loras. Sansa knows her good-siblings love this fact. The boy and his sister may be little demons, but they are beautiful and their looks favor the Tyrells.  

 

Robba whimpers, drawing Sansa from her thoughts. “Mother...” she whines and screws up her face. The girl speaks rarely, but when she does, she is to be listened to. “Scary...bad man...”

 

“Oh, sweet girl, was it a nightmare that woke you? There is no bad man here. We are safe in the walls of this place.” Sansa is unsure if Robba comprehends her sentence, but her tone at least calms the child. She hugs her daughter close and looks out over the vine-draped balcony that protrudes from her chambers. She had demanded (politely, of course) they have it built, to remind her of her dear lady mother’s Riverrun. The rosy sky is lightening steadily.

 

Robba relaxes slightly and lets her eyes drift closed. Within minutes, she is snoring softly. Sansa smiles at the brilliant sky, at her brilliant daughter, brilliant little son, brilliant husband. She smiles in the direction of Eddard’s and Bran’s room, her other brilliant boys. Her heart is full to bursting, and she wonders if she’s ever been this truly happy. Immediately, she feels a stab of guilt for thinking this. The realm is in dire straits -- though, when was the last time the realm was stable? The little goblin she was once betrothed to sits on the throne, become crueler by the day. At ten and nine, he is a man grown yet behaves just as he did when he was ten and three. His mother, with her ambition and vicious cunning, rules through him. She knows the former queen was and  _ is _ furious that Sansa slipped through her fingers.  _ A Lannister always pays her debts. _ Be they of coin or blood. The grandfather, though, that solemn and clever soldier, is perhaps the most horrific of them all. Those gold-flecked eyes  _ see _ things. They care little for human suffering, and much for his family name. She tries to keep the Lannisters from her thoughts in general.

 

She shakes lions from her thoughts and turns them to her own inner peace, fragile though it may be. She lays Robba down next to her twin and strokes Rickon’s cheek. “Sweet children,” she murmurs. “Be at peace for as long as you’re able. It’s a cruel world.”

 

“What’s this about a cruel world?” comes Willas’s sleepy mutter. He pushes himself up with one arm, brushes his black locks out of his eyes with the other. “Seems to me that any world where my wife tends children half the night is cruel. Unfair, mayhaps.” 

 

Sansa chuckles. “Speak softly, my lord,” she bids her husband. “You’ll wake them.”

 

“Dear one,” Willas says, sitting up in their bed, “have you given thought to moving the twins into their own chambers? Acquiring a nurse for them? Leaving them with a septa? Throwing them from the balcony?” 

 

During the first year of their marriage, the jolly way her lord husband often speaks of gruesome things unnerved Sansa. She thought he meant the things he said and spent weeks vaguely fearful of him. Now she just smirks. “They are my blood, Willas. There will be no balcony-tossing while I am the Lady of Highgarden.”

 

“As you say, my lady,” Willas yawns. He draws himself from their bed, wraps a hand around his cane that is his constant companion, and limps to Sansa. He wraps one arm around her and draws her close to him. They look into the sunrise. “Gods, but I love you,” he murmurs into her hair.

 

Yes, she has never been happier. “I love you too,” she says, and kisses him in the rising sun.

 


End file.
